


The Road to Paradise

by shadowintime



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Happy Ending, M/M, The Death Cure Spoilers, mentions of past suicide attempts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 05:50:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5080126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowintime/pseuds/shadowintime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(The Death Cure AU) Newt wakes up in Denver, unsure of what has happened. How is he alive? Chancellor Paige sends him a message and instructions on how to get to get to Paradise. Newt's unsure what will happen when he gets to Paradise, but he has to see his friends again. He has to see Tommy again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was an idea I came up with after reading The Death Cure; Newt being my favorite character, I HAD to fix his death. Right after that, I saw a posting for the Newmas big bang and here we are. :D 
> 
> Beta'd by [smileinmycoffee](http://smileinmycoffee.tumblr.com/). A huge thank you her for taking the time to look my fic over and correcting the mistakes.
> 
> The lovely [fan-girl-it-up](http://fan-girl-it-up.tumblr.com/) made a soundtrack to accompany this fic... it can be found [here](http://8tracks.com/adictedly56/paradise) on 8tracks. She also made this banner...  
> [](http://i13.photobucket.com/albums/a261/swiftrayne/road%20to%20paradise%20banner_zpsioo7wa54.jpg)

Newt gasped, eyes flying open. His lungs ached as air filled them, like he’d held his breath for too long. He tried to remember what had happened, why he was lying on the hard pavement of a dirty road, but the memories that flooded back made no sense. He remembered tackling Thomas to the ground, forcing Thomas to hold a gun to his head, yelling horrible things that he didn’t mean, and asking – no, begging – his best friend to kill him. And he had. Thomas had pulled the trigger and the deafening crack of the shot just barely registered in his ears before everything went black.

He felt as though someone had reached into his chest and ripped out his heart with one hand and constricted his breathing with the other. Tommy had actually done it, he’d actually killed him. Except that he hadn’t, obviously. Newt reached up to inspect his forehead for any sign of damage; he felt nothing but something thick and sticky covering smooth skin and hard bone. When he looked at his hand, he discovered that the substance was congealing blood. He frantically ran his fingers over his face and through his hair, searching desperately for the source of the drying blood, but only found more of it.

Newt felt something tugging at this shoe. He sat up and found one of the Cranks from the group that he’d been with – a gangly man with only one eye and more than a few teeth missing – gnawing on his shoe. Blood oozed from the corners of the man’s mouth and Newt thought that he heard a tooth break as the man repositioned the sole of Newt’s shoe to the side of his mouth and chomped down. Newt kicked the Crank in the mouth and scrambled backwards.

The Crank clasped his mangled hands over his injured mouth, blood oozing out between his fingers, and began whining like a dog that had been kicked by its master. Once Newt had put a good eight feet or so of distance between them, he stopped, feeling oddly bad about hurting the man. In an instant, the look in the man’s eyes switched from hurt to rage.

Newt tensed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, knowing that it wouldn’t help anything, but feeling the need to apologize anyways.

The Crank dropped his hands from his mouth to the pavement and slowly began to crawl towards Newt, blood dripping unhindered from his chin and eyes flashing dangerously, madly. He grinned, showing off his broken and jagged teeth before licking his lips as though he were looking at a large freshly cooked steak instead of a living, breathing person.

Newt glanced from the crank advancing on him to the group still digging through the trash pile; luckily none of the group seemed to notice that anything had changed, that he had changed. At least he had one thing going for him. Newt looked back to the mangled Crank; the man had stopped and was crouching, muscles twitching, ready to attack at any moment. Newt began running in the opposite direction, not waiting for the Crank to decide to attack. He could hear growling and heavy breathing from somewhere behind him, but dared not spend the time or effort to look back.

When his legs couldn’t take much more, Newt slowed until he finally came to a stop, doubling over and bracing his hands on his knees for the support he definitely needed. He looked back the way he’d come, searching for any sign of the Crank he’d been running from or any others that might be lurking in the vicinity. He saw none. His deep, almost desperate breaths echoed off the buildings and sounded much louder to his own ears than he hoped it really was. He tried to slow his breathing, but his body had other ideas. The ache he’d felt in his lungs when he’d awoken was worse than ever. He had no idea of how far he’d run, but he’d never felt so tired and winded than he did at that moment and his bad leg was hurting something awful. He wouldn’t be able to go much further without a decent amount of rest first.

After several minutes, his breathing finally slowed and he stood up straight. He caught sight of his reflection in a window that had been painted over black from the inside and almost didn’t recognize himself. Blood had run down his forehead, on each side of his nose, past his jaw and down his neck, disappearing to the back. His clothes were filthy and ripped, caked with small amounts of blood – that he suspected was not his own – in a few places. His skin was covered in a thin layer of dirt and there were some more pronounced smudges on his neck, right cheek and arms. Large patches of his hair were missing; he could vaguely remember them being pulled out, but his scalp looked normal, uninjured. Newt raised his hand to one of spots devoid of hair and gingerly touched it, expecting it to be tender, but it wasn’t. He looked an absolute mess and so he looked away, ashamed of what he had become.

He wanted to cry, thinking that this was how Thomas had last seen him… that if he never saw Thomas again, this was the way his friend – the boy he loved – would remember him. Newt had never been a vain person, but this was not the way he wanted anyone to remember him. If he had to be remembered, he wanted to be remembered as the boy before the Flare, the one that could be depended on, who stayed strong even when all he and everyone else wanted to do was break, the boy with the smile that Minho once claimed could fix anything.

Newt took another look at his surroundings. He needed to find somewhere reasonably safe to stay for the night. The sun was going down fast and he reckoned that the streets were no place be once night fell. Newt crossed the street and began testing the doors of the buildings; most seemed to be locked, which didn’t surprise him much. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the knowledge that only a few days ago this had been a bustling city rattled around, but he couldn’t remember how he knew that. Every memory he’d had before going to the Crank Palace seemed so far away and foggy, like it’d happened a lifetime ago instead of mere days. He supposed that was probably due to the Flare eating away at his brain, but now everything was clear again… clearer than it had been since they’d been since they'd escaped the Maze.

After trying two streets worth of buildings and not finding a single unlocked door on any of the shops, with the evening growing ever darker, Newt finally decided that he was going to have to take matters into his own hands and make a safe place. Deciding on a space with boarded-up windows, Newt picked up a nearby metal trashcan and threw it at the door to break the glass, then kicked the board still covering the door loose. He carefully peeked inside, looking for any signs of life; finding none, he stepped through the door, picked the board up and leaned it back against the door as best he could, hoping that anyone roaming the streets that night wouldn’t notice the difference.

The place looked like it had been some sort of café or restaurant once upon a time, but it didn’t look like anyone had eaten there for a while. A layer of dust covered everything and rats scurried across the floor in a panic and back into holes, away from the intruder. It definitely wasn’t ideal, but hopefully it would do for a night or two… at least until he could figure out what to do next. Quietly as he could, Newt turned tables on their sides with their legs against the back wall to form a barrier that he could sleep behind and placed the chairs around the room in a maze pattern of sorts that would hopefully trip any intruders up or at least give him a bit of warning as to their presence. Newt surveyed his work before nodding to himself in approval and crawling over behind the tables to lay down.

Sleep didn’t come easy. His mind was reeling with a hundred different questions about what had happened to him, gears turning trying to come up with a decent plan of what to do next and where to go. The rats didn’t help. After what felt like a couple hours they turned brazen and came out of the woodwork to investigate him. Newt tried to shoo them away but they wouldn’t be so easily detoured. Finally he got up and repositioned his tables so that they couldn’t get into his barricade. As he lay back down, he tried to remember a night worse than this, but nothing that had happened in the Maze or even the Scorch seemed quite as bad as that particular moment in time… maybe it was because he’d always had Minho and Tommy with him before. There was safety in numbers and reassurance in knowing that people that you trusted and loved had your back, and right now Newt had neither of those things.


	2. Chapter 2

Light was forcing its way through the cracks around the edges of the boards when Newt woke up. He felt something moving against his leg and found a rat sniffing its way up it. Newt shook it off, but it had nowhere to go in the rectangle of tables so he grabbed it and threw it out. The rat hit one of the chairs in his maze and the clicking of metal (a gun being readied maybe?) and shuffling of feet could be heard somewhere near the door. Newt froze. Had the intruders seen him? Were they Cranks?

“It’s just a damn rat,” one of them, definitely a man, said. It sounded muffled, like he was talking into his hand.

Newt carefully scooted over to a small crack between two of the tables he’d shoved together, quiet as he could manage. He could just make out two people in WICKED biohazard suits; they were standing in front of the door, guns in hand.

“Let’s just get this over with,” the other one – also a man – said, lowering his weapon.

The first man looked at the tables, directly at Newt. “We aren’t here to hurt you kid.” He took a few steps towards the table.

Newt ducked back behind one of the tables. Did they actually know he was there or were they just guessing?

“Your Swipe is still active kid, we can track you… we know you’re there, behind those tables. We aren’t here to hurt you or take you in or anything. We’ve got a delivery for you, from Chancellor Paige.”

He’d forgotten about the Swipe. He figured there wasn’t much point in trying to pretend he wasn’t there, so Newt peeked up over the tables. “Don’t come any closer. I’ve got a launcher,” he lied.

The man closest to him took one hand off of his gun and held it up before slowly laying his gun down in one of the chairs. “Alright, easy kid.”

“What’s the delivery?” Newt asked cautiously.

“A packet of papers,” the man replied, slowly sliding a backpack from his shoulders and retrieving the packet from it, “I don’t know what they are. The Chancellor just said that it was important that we get it to you.”

Newt considered this for a moment. Why would this Chancellor – whom as far as he knew seemed to run WICKED – deem it so important that he receive some manila envelope full of papers? “Just… leave it on that chair there.”

“Alright.” The man sat the envelope on the chair and then started to reach back into the backpack.

“Whoa! Stop whatever you’re doing!” Newt ordered.

“Easy kid, easy.” The man slowly brought his hand out of the bag to reveal some sort of device that looked like a mask. “We were also ordered to disable your Swipe.”

“I thought I already made it clear back at the WICKED facility, I don’t want my memories back!”

“This won’t give you any memories back. It’ll just disable the Swipe so that you can’t be tracked.”

Newt narrowed his eyes at the man, anger flaring up. “And why should I believe anything you say? Why would you want to disable the Swipe and not be able to track me?”

“Look kid, I ain’t trying to trick you. I’m just following orders.”

“The Chancellor said you might make a fuss,” the other man spoke up. “She said to tell you that if you wanted to go be with your friends – with Thomas, whoever that is – that you need to let us disable your Swipe or WICKED can follow you.” The two men exchanged a look.

“The Chancellor is WICKED; why wouldn’t she want to be able to track me? Why would she want to help me and my friends?”

“WICKED ain’t what it used to be kid,” the second man replied. He sounded sad. “The Chancellor’s got no control anymore. She’s doing what she calls ‘damage control’ while she still can.”

“So why are you going along with it? Aren’t you loyal to WICKED, no matter who’s running it?”

The two men exchanged another look. “We’ve seen what things are coming to… we’re loyal to the Chancellor.”

Newt mulled all this new information over, trying to decide if this was just another of WICKED’s tricks. What did he really have to lose though? “Alright, just you,” Newt finally said, pointing to the man with the mask-like device. “Don’t even think about trying anything.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it kid.” The man dropped his backpack, walked over and cautiously placed the device over Newt’s nose and mouth. Small tendrils snaked out of the device and into Newt’s ears and nose.

Almost as quickly as it’d begun, it was over with… at least from Newt’s perspective. The tendrils receded back into the device and the man turned away to retrieve his backpack and tuck the device away. Newt tried to determine if he felt anything different or knew anything more or less than he used to, but he felt exactly the same and couldn’t recall any new memories.

“Be careful out there kid,” the man said as he picked up his gun, “it’s dangerous. Even more so than you realize.” The second man slid a large backpack from his shoulders and tossed it towards the chair that the envelope was laying on. And with that, he and his partner stepped back out the door and headed off down the street.

Newt waited until their shadows had passed every boarded up window outside the café before cautiously climbing over the tables and retrieving the envelope of papers that had been left for him. He peeked out the door and looked down the street; the men were already gone but someone ran across the street a couple blocks down. Newt slid the board back over to cover the door before opening the envelope and looking over its contents. On top was a letter written in very elegant handwriting.

Dear Newt,  
---  
I’m sure that you’re quite confused right now, and understandably so. Please allow me to try to explain. Although you are not immune from the Flare, you are no less special. If anything, you are perhaps the most extraordinary of all the subjects we gathered for the trials. You were not selected because of your incredible gift however; it was found quite by accident.  
I’m sure you remember the first time that you climbed the ivy in the maze and jumped from the wall in an attempt to kill yourself. You did not realize this, but you succeeded. You impacted the ground in such a way that you broke your neck. You were dead for well over thirty minutes. Imagine our surprised when you not only woke up, but stood and ran back to the Glade as though nothing had happened. We had to turn monitoring of your vitals back on to make sure, and were in complete disbelief to find that not only were you indeed alive, but you were completely healed. It was as if you had never been injured at all.  
When you tried to commit suicide again in the same way, and injured your leg, we weren’t quite sure what to make of it. We expected you to heal as you had before, but of course, this did not happen. We ran endless simulations, even went so far as to break the very rules we ourselves had put in place and interfered with the Maze Trial in order to gain a fresh sample of your blood in hopes of gaining some answers, perhaps even a cure. You will not remember this either; it had to be done in such a way as to keep future data we gained from you unaltered. No answers were found though. Whatever it is that makes you special, that makes you – for lack of a better word – immortal, is beyond our understanding. Perhaps it is better that way.  
Despite this ‘immortality’ of yours, you were surprisingly infected after the second trial. I had assumed you immune to this terrible disease, just as your friends are. Your gift became even more of a mystery because of this. Why would it bring you back from death, but not heal your injuries or cure your Flare? I suspect I will spend the rest of my days pondering this question, never to find an answer. Nevertheless, I knew that the Flare would not be the end of you. Not really. I only wish that you had not been forced to endure the madness that the Flare brings about, and the heartache that no doubt has befallen both you and Thomas as a result.  
I considered forcing your body to heal itself the only way I knew how, by killing you, but decided that it was not worth the risk. I kept your gift a closely guarded secret; only myself and Thomas knew and of course, the Swipe took those memories away from him. The measures that my colleagues have resorted to out of pure desperation to find a cure that I now know will never exist…I am confident in saying that I have made the right decision. You would have only endured more suffering had they known of your gift, suffering that I fear would prove pointless.  
If you have let my men disable your Swipe, then you no longer need fear WICKED. You are free. It was not a trick; it was a measure to ensure that both you and your friends are able to live out a life free of further WICKED interference. Enclosed, you will also find a map. This map leads to where you will find your friends if they were able to escape WICKED headquarters as I intended for them to. It will be a long journey, but hopefully it will be worth it. I wish that I could give you a quick and easy path there, but I’m afraid that proved impossible with the way things are now. Take the supplies I’ve given you and go.  
Ava Paige, Chancellor  
  
Newt stared at the letter for a long time, reading it over and over again, sure that he had to be reading it wrong. Life had never been this easy for him, he’d never come by anything anywhere near this good without a million strings attached to it, each one as bad as the next. However, he couldn’t deny the fact that despite Tommy shooting him pointblank in the forehead, he was somehow alive and he was sane. Could it have all simply been a trick orchestrated by WICKED? Another trial? Maybe Thomas hadn’t even shot him, maybe it was a false memory WICKED had put in his head. Maybe he’d never been infected at all. He knew that WICKED could control them through the implants they’d put in their brain. Maybe they had been controlling him this entire time, making him think he was infected and rapidly going crazy.

Something inside him was reluctant to believe that. He wouldn’t put it past WICKED for a second to do something as messed up as making someone believe they were going crazy, but this felt different. He found himself wanting to believe the letter, to believe that he had some sort of immortality, as inefficient as it might be. He wanted to believe that he could be with his friends again… with Tommy again. Any hurt he’d felt towards Thomas for shooting him (and he honestly couldn’t blame him for doing it) had long since passed; now he just missed him terribly. Minho too. But it was different with Thomas. It had been different since Thomas had come up in the box.

They’d instantly had a connection, he’d felt it the moment he looked at the boy. He couldn’t quite put it into words, but he thought about it often and wondered if they’d had something before he was sent up into the Glade. Janson’s offer to restore their memories had been tempting, more so than he ever cared to admit, but only to find out what he and Tommy were to each other before the wipe. That notion quickly faded as fears of all the things he might not want to know crept into his mind. He and Tommy had something good between them – maybe not all that he wanted it to be – but he hadn’t wanted to risk losing what they had. He didn’t think he could stand it if he lost Tommy over something that didn’t even matter anymore.

Newt glanced over the letter once more, then studied the map. He was going. He was going to find Thomas and Minho and any of the other Gladers that were still alive. It wasn’t even a hard decision to make. If they were out there somewhere, he would find them and he would put things right with Tommy. He knew his friend had to be agonizing over his death, if it had really happened. The thought of Tommy so sad, and because of him, broke his heart all over again.

Newt pulled the large backpack full of supplies towards him and unzipped each section, inspecting the contents. The Chancellor had given him about a week’s worth of food and water, maybe a little more if he rationed right, a set of clean clothes, shoes like the ones that had been sent up in the box back in the Glade for the runners, and a compass. A coat meant for cooler weather than that currently of Denver lay on the floor beside the door; the men must have dropped it there just after entering the building. He looked at the map again and noted that he’d have to cross over the mountains; that was probably what the coat was for.

As Newt ate one of the energy bars from the backpack, he considered changing into the fresh clothes, but decided against it. He was probably better off looking like a Crank on his journey; it would be safer that way. His apparent immortality came to mind, but he didn’t want to test its limits. Besides, immortality or not, he imagined being eaten alive by Cranks was the worst thing one could ever have the misfortune of experiencing… definitely worse than anything WICKED had ever done to them. He shuddered at the thought, then shoved the letter in the backpack and zipped it up, once and for all deciding against changing into the fresh clothes.

Newt stood, tucked the map away in his pants pocket, slipped the backpack over his shoulders and stared at the coat. He dreaded having to carry it around, but knew he would need it when he crossed the mountains. He let out the left strap of the backpack as much as he could and slid the coat through it. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, putting his arm at a somewhat odd angle, but he figured it beat having to carry it draped over his arm the whole way.

Newt took one last look around, making sure that he hadn’t forgotten anything, and realized that the Chancellor hadn’t given him a weapon to defend himself with. He frowned, wondering if it was oversight or deliberate. He shook his head, deciding not to put too much thought into it and looked around once more, this time for anything that could be used as a weapon. Part of the far wall had been ripped out at some point, revealing a cluster of frayed wires and a couple metal pipes that had begun to rust in a few places. Newt crossed the room and gave one of the pipes an experimental kick. It gave slightly, a flurry of rust falling to the ground around it. He kicked it again and again until finally he was able to yank it loose. He surveyed the length of pipe he’d broke free; it was about four feet long, sturdy but not too heavy, and the sharp, jagged rusty ends were a definite plus. He missed his machete from the Glade, the familiarity of it, but this would have to do for now at least.

Hoping that no one had heard him kicking the pipe, Newt cautiously slid the board from in front of the door, poked his head out the door and looked up and down the street that ran in front of the abandoned café. It was eerily quiet outside, not a soul in sight, and he could only hope that it wasn’t because the Cranks were hiding, laying in wait for him to move out into the open where they could get the jump on him. He’d never get anywhere being overly cautious though, so he crawled through the door, careful of the broken glass, and started down the street.

Despite the night’s rest, his bad leg still hurt and his limp was much more pronounced than it had been in at least a year. Breaking the pipe to use as a weapon definitely hadn’t helped. He still counted it as worth it though, especially when he’d made it quite a few blocks on down the street. The sounds of crazed voices and screams began to echo down the streets to his right; it sounded like an entire pack of Cranks were somewhere off in the distance. Newt picked up his pace; if he got out of Denver before nightfall, it wouldn’t be fast enough for his liking.


	3. Chapter 3

To Newt, it seemed like he’d been walking for a little part of forever. His feet ached something awful and it felt like his blisters had blisters. He was beyond tired, his eyes dry and bleary, his clothes smelly and sticky with sweat, and his supplies were almost out even though he’d found more food and water along the way. He’d lost track of how many days he’d been walking but it had to be at least two weeks worth, probably more. He’d made it this far though and according to the map, didn’t have too much farther to go. As he looked ahead and only saw more of the same damaged road and barren land, it was hard to believe that he was anything less than half a world away from the place that was labeled ‘Paradise’ on the map.

After an hour more of walking, Newt came across an old filling station. The windows were all broken out, the fuel pumps had been ripped from the cement they once stood on, and the cars in the parking lot were burnt out long ago and now covered in a layer of dust that didn’t quite hide the charred metal. He didn’t expect to find any supplies in a place like this, but with only half a bottle of water and a fourth of a power bar left, he couldn’t afford not to give the place a once-over. Glass crunched under his feet as he ducked under the handle bar of the door and took a look around. As he suspected, the pace had long ago been raided, but some odds and ends remained.

Newt walked over to a shelf where a bright orange beanie hat hung, only slightly dusty even after so many years of abandonment. He pulled it off of the rack and broke the plastic hanger off of it, letting the small plastic hook fall to the floor without care. His hair had started to grow back in a little where it had been ripped out not so long ago, but it still looked awful, not much better than it had in Denver. The closer he got to the spot marked on the map, the so-called Paradise where the Gladers were supposed to be waiting for him, the more he became self-conscious about his appearance. He wanted to greet his friends with clean skin and clean clothes, a smile on his face, and no trace of Denver or ever being a Crank. He wanted it to be like Denver had never happened.

Sighing, he dusted the beanie off and slipped it inside his backpack for later use. It couldn’t erase the most obvious showing of his time as a Crank, but maybe the hat could hide it well enough. He spent a few minutes rifling through the decrepit filling station, hoping for some food of some sort that was still edible. He found one dented can of baked beans and a package of saltines that were bound to taste like and have the consistency of cardboard; both were nearly a decade out of date. Still, it’d keep him from going hungry for another day and he couldn’t really complain about that. He also found a six pack of some sort of energy drink hidden under a shelf that had been knocked over. It probably wasn’t the best thing for hydration, but he could definitely use the energy it claimed to provide.

 

By nightfall, he’d reached the large patch of woods marked on the map. Paradise was just on the other side of them. It was hard to tell just how long it might take him to get through, but his odds of surviving were looking better. He’d ate the rest of the power bar shortly after leaving the filling station and would eat half of the can of beans that night… if he ate the other half of the can and maybe some of the crackers tomorrow, surely he could make it to Paradise before he starved to death. He’d die of dehydration long before he starved, but he still had four cans of the energy drink, so it’d be a few days before even that might happen.

As Newt dropped his bag to the ground and sat against a tree, he tried to push those thoughts from his mind. He pulled the can of beans from his bag and opened it. As he ate, Newt looked up at the tops of trees ahead. Most of the trees were barren, but in the rapidly fading light he could see a few trees in the distance with lush green leaves. It’d been hard to imagine any place left on the planet worth calling ‘Paradise’ when everything was scorched, but maybe there was one place left in the world that had escaped ruin or at least recovered from it after all.

 

When Newt woke the next day, the sun was already halfway up in the sky and it was getting hot, though not as hot as it normally was. Maybe the weather was changing, or maybe there was something about Paradise’s location kept it from getting as hot there. Either way, Newt was glad for the reprieve. He pulled a few crackers out of his backpack for breakfast before sliding the bag onto his shoulders and heading into the woods.

By mid-day Newt had reached a deep area of the woods where the leaves on the trees were so thick, only small beams of light were able to penetrate the canopy here and there. It reminded him of the Deadheads in the Glade. He almost had to laugh at himself; all the time he’d spend hating the Maze and here he was, thinking fondly back on his time in the Glade, back when things weren’t actually as bad as they seemed. He might even be willing to go so far as to say that he missed the Glade now. Compared to the Scorch and Denver, to the outside world in general, the Glade now seemed like an idealistic hideaway.

There was something up ahead. The sound was faint, but the thick canopy kept the sound from escaping into the open air above. It carried through the trees, over the decaying leaves on the ground. Newt held his piece of rusty pipe at the ready as he crept closer. The sound was somehow vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. It sounded a bit like one of Frypan’s pots bubbling, but bigger. More like when water was being pumped, actually. And then he saw it, the source of the sound.

The ground sloped downwards into a river with a rushing stream of water as clear as that that they had pumped out of the ground in the Glade. The water actually sparkled in the sunlight that shown though the divide of the trees on each side. Cattails and large, smooth boulders dotted the shoreline. Newt ran to the water’s edge, fell to his knees, scooped up some of the water in his cupped hands and brought it to his lips. He sighed happily. The free flowing water tasted better than anything he could ever remember having, definitely better than the bottled water he’d had that had been sitting on some shelf somewhere for who knew how long. It was cooler too.

It didn’t take long for Newt to decide to strip down and wade in for a bath. He didn’t have any soap, but just rinsing off the dust, sand, grime and sweat that had accumulated on his skin and in his hair would be nice. At least he wouldn’t have to find his friends (hopefully) looking like the thing the cat dragged in. And the thought of changing into the clean set of clothes waiting in his backpack was almost as good.

“Hey! What the shuck do you think you’re doing?!” someone exclaimed from behind him. “We drink the water that flows down river from here!”

That voice sounded so familiar. Newt would recognize that voice anywhere. He turned around and found Minho standing at the water’s edge, one hand on his hip and the other gripping a bag slung over his shoulder, looking exactly as Newt remembered him.

Realization passed over Minho’s face as he comprehended that the person he was yelling at was his missing friend. “Newt?” Minho whispered.

Newt smiled, relief flooding his chest. “Minho!”

Minho dropped the bag to the ground and ran into the water to hug him. “It’s you!” Minho pushed him out to arms length and looked him over. “It’s really you isn’t it?”

Newt chuckled. “Of course it’s me! You happen to know anyone else that looks exactly like me?”

Minho pulled him back in for another hug. “No, but I thought I might be seeing things.”

“You’re not seeing things.”

“Wait…” Minho held him at arm’s length again. “Last time we saw you, you were a Crank. You look awfully sane to me.”

Newt smiled. “I am.”

“How? Did someone find a cure?”

“No, they didn’t,” Newt replied, shaking his head. “Least not that I know of.”

“Then how are you not a Crank anymore?”

“It’s a long story, one that I’d rather only tell once. Think we could wait until we get to Paradise for me to tell it?”

Minho frowned. “How do you know about Paradise?”

“It’s part of the long story.”

“Oh, okay.”

Newt waited for Minho to let him go, but Minho simply stood there, staring at him. “I’m kind of naked here… think I could go get dressed?”

“Oh, right!” Minho smiled and shook his head as if he were clearing it of thoughts. “I’m so glad you found us. I was so worried about you.” He pulled Newt in for one last hug before releasing him and turning to trudge back to the shoreline, his wet pants and boots bogging him down.

Newt followed him out of the water, pulled the clean clothes that he’d been waiting to wear out of the backpack, and put them on as he listened to Minho tell him all about everything he’d missed. Apparently he’d missed a lot. They were close enough to the camp to hear voices by the time Minho had finally got him up to date on everything that had happened since they’d found Newt at the Crank Palace. From everything that Minho had said, it sounded like Thomas hadn’t told Minho about their encounter in Denver and Newt was glad. Minho didn’t need to know; no one did, but especially not him. Minho would never forgive Thomas, no matter the circumstances.

As they entered the camp which, just as Minho had said, had obviously been quickly thrown together, Minho handed off the bag he’d been carrying to a boy that Newt had never seen before. As he looked around, Newt realized that he didn’t know most of the people there. Somehow, all of the strangers made him even more self-conscious than he’d initially anticipated being. Newt tugged at the orange beanie, pulling it lower on his head.

Minho stopped to talk to one of the strangers, a boy that looked to be slightly older them, and Newt took the opportunity to take a better look around. Everyone seemed to be doing something. He spotted some of the girls from Group B tying broken tree limbs together for another makeshift shelter that consisted of four upright poles, a raised platform and a slightly slanted roof made of sticks, grass and leaves. Aris was sitting by a campfire peeling something and putting it in a cook pot. Newt idly wondered where Frypan was at and if he’d even made it to Paradise. He turned and spotted a group of boys and a few girls in a clearing a little ways away from the hastily thrown together camp. They had some lumber there and were working on building a more permanent structure, a proper house maybe. Newt spotted Gally first; he had a large log tucked under one arm and at the other end… at the other end of the log was Thomas.

Newt sucked in a deep breath. Panic crept into his chest. What if Thomas didn’t want to see him, what if looking at Newt brought on too many bad memories? He started to turn, to run the other way when Minho finished his conversation and wrapped an arm around Newt’s shoulders, urging him on. Newt vaguely realized that Minho was once again chattering away at him about something, but he couldn’t hear his friend over the pounding of his heart in his chest.

“Look who I found butt-naked in the woods!” Minho announced as they neared Gally and Thomas. Everyone turned to look. Newt blushed, but it wasn’t noticeable beneath the sunburn he’d acquired along his journey there.

Gally’s eyebrows crept up his forehead just before his lips broke into a smile. He started to extend his hand to Newt when the log under his other arm suddenly pulled on him. He looked down at the log, then to Thomas who had dropped the other end and was staring, absolutely stunned, at Newt. “Get it together Thomas, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. It’s just Newt,” Gally admonished him.

“Hey, I don’t blame him, last time we saw him, he was a Crank!” Minho told Gally.

Gally frowned and eyed Newt critically. “Looks fine to me.”

Newt was becoming uncomfortable under Thomas’ gaze. His friend showed no sign of being happy to see him, just a blank, almost dead, if not surprised look. Just when he had decided that no, Thomas was not in fact happy to see him, Thomas moved forward and wrapped his arms tightly around Newt.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas whispered, burying his nose in Newt’s neck. “I’m so sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Newt whispered back, wrapping one arm around Thomas’ middle and the other reaching up to tangle his fingers in Thomas’ hair. “I’m so happy to see you.”

Thomas began to shake. Newt wasn’t sure why at first, but then heard the quiet sobs that were muffled by his neck. Thomas was clinging to him like his life depended on it. Maybe his sanity did.

Minho and Gally exchanged a look, confused as to why Thomas was so utterly happy to see Newt. “Geez, get a room guys,” Minho finally muttered.

Thomas, still shaky, relaxed his grip on Newt and pulled back to look at him again. “How? How are you…?”

Newt wiped a few tears away from Thomas’ face, fully aware that there were probably just as many running down his own face. “It’s… complicated.” Newt pulled his backpack off, one arm at a time, unwilling to let go of Thomas fully. He pulled the Chancellor’s letter from the bag and handed it to Thomas. As Thomas read the letter, Newt tried his best to explain what the letter said to Gally, Minho, and the growing crowd curious as to what was going on, careful to omit the parts about his suicide attempts in the Maze.

“Whoa, wait,” Minho held a hand up to stop Newt. “That means you had to die to heal… you… you died?”

Newt wanted to glance at Thomas, but refused to. He didn’t want to see whatever expression might be there at the mention of his death. He simply nodded.

“How?” Minho demanded. Newt could see the anger welling up inside of his friend, just over the fact that he had died at all.

“It was on a highway in Denver, there were a group of Cranks…” Newt trailed off. He would let them think what they would; think that the Cranks had killed him maybe. “It doesn’t matter. I was going to die sooner or later anyways because of the Flare. It was better that it happened like it did… with everything that Minho told me happened at WICKED headquarters, if I hadn’t died there, the Chancellor might not have been able to send me that letter and map.”

Newt chanced a look at Thomas. Thomas was staring at him again, that same serious, dead look as before. Thomas looked at the letter one more time before folding it up and stuffing it back into Newt’s backpack. He was sure that Minho at least would want to see it, but Thomas didn’t want him to and didn’t figure Newt would want him to either. No one needed to know about Newt’s suicide attempts.

“Lemme through! Outta my way!”

Newt barely had time to turn to search for the shouting boy when Frypan pushed past the last few people and wrapped his arms tightly around Newt, lifting him off of the ground and spinning him around. “You made it!” Frypan exclaimed as he put Newt back down.

“Yeah, course I did,” Newt replied with a smile. “You didn’t really think I’d trust you lot here by yourselves, unsupervised, did you?”

Frypan and the rest of the Gladers, except Thomas, laughed. “Yeah, it’s a good thing you’re here. I don’t care what that mark on his neck says,” Frypan pointed to Minho, “ain’t no way he was supposed to be runnin’ things here!”

“Hey!” Minho exclaimed dejectedly, holding his arms out at his sides. “I got us organized and working…”

Frypan crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Newt. “Translation… he’s been the bossiest shank you’d ever meet. Alby wasn’t even as bossy as Minho.”

“Or if he was, he was a lot better at making it easier to swallow,” Gally grumbled.

Thomas tried to hide the smile that had suddenly forced its way onto his lips. Newt was glad to see him smile.

Minho turned to Thomas. “Back me up here man!”

Thomas bit his lip, glancing at Minho before looking at the ground. “You did make a little girl cry.”

“I apologized for that!”

“Yeah, right after Sonya slapped him,” Frypan muttered. Minho narrowed his eyes at the cook.

“Alright, let’s just calm down, yeah?” Newt said, stepping between them and holding up his hands. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought of a Group B girl slapping Minho; that was something he would have paid to see. “Let’s just give it a rest and we’ll figure things out later.”

Minho visibly deflated.

“See, this is why we need you man,” Frypan said, clapping Newt on the shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Look, I left Aris back there peeling roots, so I’d better go check on him… boy peels off too much, I’m constantly having to watch him. I’ll catch up with you later, okay?” Frypan asked with a smile.

“Good that.”

Frypan tightly hugged him once more. “You don’t even know how glad I am that you made it man.”

“Alright, everyone back to work!” Minho said loudly, clapping his hands. “This place isn’t gonna build itself.”

Frypan pointed at Minho as he started to walk away. “Bossy!”

“Shuck off!”

“Glad you made it Newt,” Gally said, smiling genuinely, as he turned and picked up the log that he and Thomas had been carrying.

Newt turned to Thomas, who was staring at him again. “Do you need to…?” Newt vaguely motioned towards Gally.

Thomas watched as Gally hoisted the log up onto his shoulder. “Nah, I think he’s got it. I was just helping him so Minho wouldn’t yell at me.”

Minho glared at Thomas. “Seriously? You too? Not cool Thomas, not cool.”

Thomas laughed as he watched Minho walk away.

“He hasn’t really been that bad, has he?” Newt asked quietly, a little concerned. Minho had always been the ‘do it my way or get out of my sight’ type, but as the keeper of the Runners, with the danger they faced every day, he’d had to be. He’d been tough with the trainees because if he wasn’t, they had the tendency of making mistakes and another name got scratched off of the wall.

“Nah, not really.” Thomas placed a hand on the small of Newt’s back and began to lead him away from the busy area. “He can take it a little too far at times, but for the most part everyone just finally found a soft spot and they’re poking at it for fun.”

“Oh.”

“He really stepped up, got things going, gave everyone direction when no one knew what to do. You would have been really proud.”

“Minho told me about everything that happened before you ended up here. Said you really took it hard,” Newt said carefully.

The serious, dead inside look overtook Thomas’ face again. “We were almost here and Teresa just… and you were… at least I thought you were… I thought I had…”

“Stop.” Newt forced Thomas to stop and look at him. “I’m glad you did it. You cured me Thomas, you did. I’m not mad at you; how could I be? So don’t you dare go blaming yourself or feeling guilty for any of that, got it? You’re my best friend and… I love you.”

Thomas looked like he was going to cry again. He simply nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment. It wasn’t exactly the reaction Newt had been hoping for when admitting that he loved Thomas, but he could see how Tommy could have mistook the admission for brotherly love.

“As for Chuck and Teresa and all the other Gladers that didn’t make it… you wanna blame someone for that, blame WICKED. They’re at fault for all the deaths, not you. Do you hear me?”

Thomas nodded, but looked only half convinced.

“WICKED isn’t good,” Newt said as they continued walking towards the woods. “Maybe at one point, a very long time ago, they had good intentions but they lost their way and any morals they might have had. I will not let them destroy you as their final act… you got that?!”

Thomas smiled, his bottom lip quivering slightly. “Got it.” 

“Good, ‘cause I didn’t come all this way to find you, just to shucking lose you.”

Thomas stopped in his tracks and looked at Newt curiously. “You came all this way… for me?”

“Of course I did.”

“So that I wouldn’t beat myself up for killing you?” Thomas asked, staring at the ground as he kicked at a stick.

“Well, yeah, but not just for that…” Newt grinned. “Minho’s right, you can be really oblivious about what’s right in front of you sometimes.”

“What…?”

Newt cupped the back of Thomas’ neck and pressed his lips to Tommy’s. Thomas was surprised at first, but quickly relaxed and returned the kiss.

“Been wanting to do that since you came up in that bloody box,” Newt murmured when they broke for air.

Thomas grinned, wrapping his arms around Newt. “I wanted to do more than that.”

Newt arched a brow. “Oh yeah? Tell me more.”

“Please don’t,” Gally said. They both looked at him, startled. “Sorry to break up this… whatever, but you’re supposed to be helping me gather wood Thomas.”

“But Newt just got here…” Thomas began, letting one arm drop from Newt so that he could face Gally.

Gally crossed his arms over his chest. “And we’re all glad he’s here, but we’ve got work to do and only so many hours of daylight to do it in. You two can… do whatever this was about to turn into when it gets dark.”

“He’s right,” Newt said.

Thomas turned to give him a look. “Seriously?”

Newt shrugged and gave Thomas an empathetic look. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but this place isn’t much different from the Glade. Work’s gotta be done, and from what I’ve seen of this place, there’s a lot to do. We’ll pick _this_ up later, that’s a promise.”

Thomas looked from Newt to Gally before sighing deeply. “Fine.”

“Look, I’ll help…”

“No, you should go find Minho, talk things over with him,” Gally interjected.

“He’s not gonna care if I help the builders.”

“No, but…” Gally took a few steps towards Newt. “Look, I noticed you were limping pretty bad… you should rest your leg.”

Thomas looked down at Newt’s bad leg; he’d been too shocked by Newt even being alive to notice anything else, but now that he looked, Newt had most of his weight on his good leg and was resting the bad one as much as possible. “He’s right. All that walking… you should rest, at least until tomorrow.”

“It’s not that bad,” Newt lied. Truth be told, his leg had been killing him for days, but his determination had outweighed the pain. And right now, he was pretty determined to stick with Thomas.

“Even so, like you said Newt, lots to do. We’re gonna need you at your best.”

Newt stared at Gally for a few long moments. Gally had always been good to him, a lot nicer than he was to most of the other Gladers, but even still, he seemed different now. Definitely calmer, more considerate maybe. He sighed. “You’re probably right.”

“Of course I am.”

That was more like the Gally he knew in the Glade. Newt smiled and turned to Thomas. “I’ll find you later.”

“Not if I find you first.” Thomas winced as soon as he’d said it. It’d sounded a lot better in his head two seconds before it came out of his mouth.

Gally rolled his eyes and grabbed a fist full of Thomas’ shirt, pulling him away. “Come on lover boy, before you say something even stupider.”

Newt chucked as he watched them walk deeper into the forest, arguing the whole way. It was odd to see them getting along even this well, but nice nevertheless.


	4. Chapter 4

Newt found Minho arguing with Sonya and Harriet over something. Harriet looked frustrated, but Sonya looked ready to murder him. “Can I borrow him for a little bit?” Newt asked the girls politely, nodding toward Minho.

“Please do,” Harriet said, her eyes seeming to convey a silent ‘thank you’.

“Keep him,” Sonya added bitterly. “We could get so much more done without him coming around, sticking his nose in everything!”

Minho started towards her, fists clenched at his sides, with a determined and angry look on his face. Newt planted a hand squarely in the middle of his chest to stop him. “Come on,” he said, pushing Minho backwards.

Minho turned and wrapped his arm around Newt’s shoulders, looking back to give the girls one last cold glare. “Good thing you showed up when you did.”

“Yeah, you were just about to get you bloody arse beaten by a couple of girls.”

“Oh please,” Minho replied, waving off the possibility.

“Minho,” Newt gave his friend a look. “You’ve gotta quit fighting with the girls. If we’re gonna make a go of this thing, we’re gonna need them.”

“For what?”

Newt arched a brow and gave him an amused look. “Well, among _other things_ , they’re strong fighters and survivors. There’s no box here, no one to give us any help or food anymore… it’s gonna take _everyone_ to keep this place going, to keep everyone safe and fed. That’s the price of being free of WICKED.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Minho conceded. “I think we’d still do just fine with two less girls though.”

Newt rolled his eyes. “So what’s with Tommy being a builder?” he asked, changing the topic. Out of everything, he’d been wondering about that the most since he’d seen Thomas helping Gally. “No use for runners here in Paradise?”

“No, we’ve got runners here too. We’ve been mapping out the place, same as the Maze ‘cept we’re not looking for a way out,” Minho said as they stopped at a pot of water sitting on a tree stump. He got a drink before continuing. “We’ve been mapping out resource locations and setting traps for whatever wildlife might be roaming around out in the woods. Got a few rabbits from the traps I set yesterday… that’s what was in the bag I was carrying when I ran across you.”

“So why isn’t Tommy out there with you?”

Minho shifted uncomfortably on his feet before offering Newt a drink of the water. Newt accepted, but gave Minho a look that clearly said he wanted answers. “Everything that happened with WICKED, all the Gladers we lost along the way… it broke him. It took him three days after we got here to even do anything more than sit there on that cliff, looking out over the ocean.”

Newt looked up at the cliff Minho was pointing to. Everything that Minho was telling him was exactly what he’d been afraid of.

“Every morning for the first week I got up, got ready, and asked if he wanted to run the woods with me and every day he’d say no, that he was still tired. Finally I stopped asking. Figured if he wanted to be a runner again, he’d come tell me.” Minho turned and started walking again. “One day, when I got back, there he was helping Gally with the shelters. Gally said he just wandered up, asked if he needed any help… ‘course Gally wasn’t gonna say no to the first signs of actual life we’d seen from him since we got here.”

“Yeah,” Newt said, his voice cracking with emotion as he fought to hold back the tears he could feel welling up. He knew that in the very least what happened in Denver had hurt Thomas badly, but to hear just how bad it truly had been, how broken Thomas really was… that was another thing entirely.

“I’m just glad you showed up. He needed that.” Minho smiled. “We all needed that. I didn’t like the thought of you out there, by yourself with all those Cranks.”

“I managed.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have needed to.”

“Doesn’t matter anymore,” Newt said quickly. He didn’t want to talk about any of it anymore. If he only experienced an ounce of sadness the rest of his life, it would still be far too much.

Minho glanced at Newt and noticed the glisten of tears in his eyes and the sadness hidden in his features. “No, it doesn’t, ‘cause The Mighty Gladers are back together again! And we’re gonna stay that way. You shanks are stuck with me forever.”

Newt laughed. “And happily so.”

 

Newt and Minho had found a relatively quiet place to sit and talk about the future of Paradise. Minho had quickly suggested that they implement a command system much like they’d had in the Glade with Newt and Minho sharing the leadership responsibilities and Gally, Frypan and the other newly established Keepers acting like a council. Newt had agreed, if only for the familiarity of the system. It had worked well in the Glade, so why over complicate things by trying to come up with something new.

“We should have a harvest in a few months, so at least we won’t starve to death,” Minho told him. “Before the whole thing came down, Frypan had the foresight to grab some seeds and potatoes from storage in the Glade. He’s been fighting people off those potatoes since we got here… guards ‘em like they’re shuckin’ gold. Maybe they’re good as. He says they’ll sprout eventually and then we can plant ‘em, get more potatoes.”

Newt nodded thoughtfully. “What about Track-Hoes? Did any make it here?”

“No. A few of the greenies claim to know a little about gardening; they’ve been working on getting the land ready to plant,” Minho pointed to the clearing. From where they were sitting, Newt could just barely make out an area of bare dirt on the far side. “It’s been a slow go since we haven’t got any decent tools. One of the greenie builders had the idea of attaching a pointy rock to a stick with this really tough vine we found to make the crudest hoe you’ve ever seen… they break about a thousand times a day, but it’s better than nothing.”

“I occasionally helped Zart in the garden, so I know a few things. I can teach the greenies what I know and who knows, maybe they can teach me a thing or two.”

“Let’s hope. We don’t get a garden going and soon, we’re completely shucked. We’re digging up everything we can find that looks halfway edible and hoping that it doesn’t end up shucking killing us. We found some berry bushes early on, but we picked ‘em clean within a week.” Minho sighed heavily and shook his head. “I don’t know… it’s gonna be tough to keep over two-hundred people fed until the first harvest.”

“We’ll manage,” Newt said, hoping he sounded confident even though he was just as worried as Minho. “We have to.”

“What’s it like out there,” Minho asked, nodding in the direction of the Scorch that lay beyond the woods. “Could we send out runners to look for food? Maybe there are some stores out there that haven’t been touched.”

Newt shook his head. “I found a few canned goods along the way, but barely enough to keep me going. That’s not to say that there isn’t some untouched store of food just waiting to be found out there, but it’s definitely not along the road and at this point I’m not sure whether it’d be worth the effort.”

A thoughtful look came upon Minhos face. “Still, it might not hurt to send out a runner or two… not too far, just far enough to see if there’s anything close by. Out and back by the end of the day.”

Newt nodded. “Good idea.”

“You said something about a map… you still got it?” Minho asked, nodding at the backpack Newt was still carrying around.

“Yeah, here.” Newt pulled the map out of his bag and handed it to Minho. As Minho looked over the map, Newt caught sight of Thomas coming out of the woods with Gally and another large log. Thomas smiled at him, waved and tripped over a rock because he wasn’t watching where he was going. Newt chuckled.

Minho looked at Newt, then Thomas, then back to the map. “You finally tell him?”

“What?” Newt asked, surprised.

“Don’t even pretend like you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“You knew?”

“You two making eyes at each other all over the Glade and the shucking Scorch before you ran off… it wasn’t hard to figure out.”

Newt grinned. “And there I was, thinking I was being too subtle.”

Minho laughed. “You were even _trying_ to be subtle?”

Newt shrugged.

“I don’t know who is worse, you with your ridiculous subtlety or Thomas and his complete cluelessness.”

“Quite the pair, aren’t we?”

“So… you did tell him?” Minho asked, looking back at the map.

“I did.”

“Good! If you didn’t, I was going to. We’ve got too much to do to have you two wasting time pining after each other all the shucking time.”

Newt smiled. “The same could be said about you fighting with the girls over everything.”

Minho held up a hand to stop him. “Hey, this conversation isn’t about me! We’re talking about you and lover boy over there.”

“Not sure there’s anything more to be said,” Newt replied, smile slowly turning into a smirk. Minho hated when a topic was turned around onto him and not in a good way. “However, I have some things to say about…”

“Oh no, there’s plenty more to be said!” Minho quickly interrupted. “Like the fact that I’ve been sharing a shelter with Thomas since we got here. Now there’s room enough for you too, but I better not wake up in the middle of the night and find you two going at it.”

“I seem to remember a night in the Glade, waking up to you and Ben going at it a few feet away from me,” Newt said, giving him a judging look. “Creating a bit of a double standard, aren’t you?”

Minho raised the map up between them, blocking Newt’s view of him. “That wasn’t me.” 

“Oh yes it was. You looked me straight in the eyes and grinned like the bloody cat that got the cream. No one else in the Glade was quite that cocky.”

“Must have been a dream… what are you doing having sex dreams about me? Thomas better not ever find out, he’ll be jealous.”

Newt pulled the map from Minho’s hands. Minho was blushing slightly and refused to look directly at him. “It wasn’t a dream. And you certainly weren’t subtle about it. I remember when we opened the box, you saw Ben, smirked and said “dibs”. You got all in a huff a month later when he starting hanging out with Gally and you thought Gally was gonna steal him away.”

Minho stared off into the distance as he thought of the Ben and their time together. “I can’t believe I was ever worried about that. I mean, who gives up this,” he motioned to himself, “for anyone…”

Newt laughed. “Someone who actually got along with Gally, that’s who. Ben loved you though… no way was he going to leave you for anyone.”

“Yeah, he did.” Minho smiled sadly. “I miss him. And I hate WICKED for what they did to him. He should be here, with us.”

Newt placed a supportive hand on Minho’s shoulder and gently squeezed. “I know.”

Minho looked over at Gally. Gally was holding up the log they’d just brought out of the woods while Thomas secured it into place. “He’s been really good since we got here. Gally I mean. He’s not like he was in the Glade… hasn’t picked a single fight or gotten in anyone’s face about anything since he got here. I don’t think he’s even raised his voice. It’s weird.”

“You’d rather have him stalking around causing problems?”

“No, I just… WICKED, what they made him do to Chuck, it didn’t just break him, it destroyed him. I think him and Thomas are kind of holding each other together in some weird way and that’s why they’re working so well together. Hell, maybe that’s why they’re working together, period.” Minho shook his head sadly. “I’m not saying I want him to be the same jerk he was in the Glade, but I hope someday he’ll be better than what he is now.”

“I hope we all are,” Newt said quietly.

 

It was almost dark before the builders finally called it quits for the night. Thomas immediately started looking for Newt and finally found him sitting by the campfire with Minho, Frypan and Aris, laughing about something he’d missed out on hearing. He loved Newt’s smile; it was like sunshine and pure happiness and you couldn’t help but smile when he smiled.

“What’s so funny? Thomas asked as he sat beside Newt, already smiling.

“I was telling Newt about that night we fed Aris frog legs and he freaked out when we finally told him what they were,” Frypan told him, clutching at his sides, barely able to keep it together.

Thomas laughed. “Oh yeah… you’d think we’d fed him Griever, the way he was spitting and sputtering.”

“Might as well have,” Aris said, frowning.

“Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad!” Minho clapped Aris on the back. “Frypan said they tasted like chicken. You didn’t seem to think they were so bad before we told you what they were either.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t see you eating any frog-chicken.”

“Once we go through all the rabbits around here, we’ll all be eating frog-chicken,” Frypan told him. Aris wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Hey, you get hungry enough, you’ll be begging me for some frog legs!”

“Maybe, but I’m not there yet.”

Tomas leaned over and whispered in Newt’s ear, “Can we talk?”

Newt nodded and whispered, “Yeah, ‘course.”

Thomas took Newt’s hand and led him to one of the makeshift shelters closest to the woods. They sat in silence for a few long moments before Thomas finally took a deep, slightly shaky breath. “I… I’ve been trying to figure out what to say to you all evening… I thought maybe it’d come to me once we were alone, but…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Newt assured him.

Thomas closed his eyes. “After everything that happened… what I did, I feel like I need to say something, but nothing seems good enough.”

“I don’t want you to say anything. I want us to just skip past it, past all of the pain and right to the part where we get to be happy… together. I think that’s what we both need.”

Thomas smiled sadly. “I’m not sure it’s that simple, but we can try.”

“Then let’s try.”

Newt leaned in and pressed his lips to Thomas’s. Thomas instantly relaxed and cupped the back of Newt’s neck. It was like the weight of the world was slowly lifting from his shoulders, like time was rewinding itself around them to back before everything was quite so horrible. Newt was here, he was real, alive and breathing, and although Thomas still had the memory of shooting Newt, at this very moment it was easy to pretend that it was just a very bad dream.

“Stop thinking,” Newt whispered against his lips.

Thomas opened his eyes and found Newt staring back at him. “I’m trying.”

Newt kissed him again and this time Thomas focused completely on the feel of their lips pressed together. Slowly the pain, the heartbreak, all his worries, everything began to melt away until there was only them, finally together. He clung to Newt like the boy was a life raft, and maybe in a way he was.

Newt lay back, gently pulling Thomas down with him. They kissed for a while before Thomas finally rested his head on Newt’s shoulder and closed his eyes. He was so tired, both mentally and physically. Newt brushed the hair away from his eyes and noted the small worry lines that had developed on Thomas’s forehead. He pressed a kiss to Thomas’ forehead before letting him sleep.

Newt lay awake, content in watching Thomas sleep. It seemed like hours had passed before Minho – without a word – crawled onto the raised platform and laid down next to Thomas pulling his backpack, which he now used as a pillow, towards him. Minho smiled at Newt before closing his eyes to sleep.

As he slowly began to drift off to sleep, Newt made a silent promise to both himself and Thomas that he would do whatever it took to ensure that they had a happy, long life together.


	5. Epilogue

**Several months later…**

Minho woke, as he always did, before the sun had even begun to rise. He scooted out of bed and walked over to the rickety stand he’d gotten from an old motel on which rested a beaten up metal bowl full of water. He dipped his hands into the bowl and splashed the water on his face before running his wet fingers through his hair and looking in the mirror he’d took from a long abandoned gas station. He fixed his hair and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before grabbing the pack he’d readied the night before and walking out of his room into the common room of the house he shared with Thomas, Newt and Gally.

Newt was leaning against the counter in the small ‘kitchen’ area they’d built into each of the houses, eyes barely open, drinking coffee.

Minho frowned at him. Usually he was the only one in the house up at this hour. “What’s up?” he asked as he crossed the room and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the table, stuffing it into his pack.

Newt nodded to the door of the bedroom he and Thomas shared before taking another sip of his coffee. Thomas had a backpack in one hand and was quietly closing the door behind himself with the other.

Thomas crossed the room, took a pear from the fruit bowl, and slipped it into the front pouch of his bag. “Hey. Thought I might go running with you today.”

Minho’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He looked at Newt, who shrugged, before looking back to Thomas. “Thought you were happy being a builder,” Minho said. What he didn’t say was ‘thought you didn’t want to get too far away from Newt’.

Thomas shrugged. “Guess I’m just ready to be a runner again. If that’s alright…”

Minho looked to Newt again, silently trying to ask him if he thought Thomas was ready for that. Newt apparently caught the meaning in his look because he nodded slightly. “Yeah, of course it is,” he said, clapping Thomas on the shoulder. “Let’s go get some sandwiches from Frypan and we’ll head out.”

Thomas smiled. “Okay.” He made his way around the table and kissed Newt deeply. “I love you.”

Newt smiled and leaned his forehead against Thomas’. “Love you too Tommy.”

“I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah you will.”

Thomas gave him one last quick peck on the lips before turning and heading to the front door. Minho gave Newt one last surprised look before following after Thomas.

“So what brought this on?” Minho finally asked when they were almost to Frypan’s kitchen, curiosity getting the best of him.

“I dunno, it just… just felt like it was time,” Thomas replied with a small shrug.

“Finally felt like you could safely leave him?” Minho guessed.

Thomas looked at the ground in front of him and chewed at his lip. “Yeah. I guess I’ve just woken up next to him enough times to finally be sure that he’s still gonna be here when we get back. I know it’s stupid, but I was just so afraid I was gonna blink and he’d be gone again.”

“I think you’re stuck with him dude,” Minho said with a crooked smile.

“I couldn’t be happier about that.”

Minho pushed open the door to Frypan’s kitchen and held it for Thomas. Frypan did a double-take upon seeing Thomas, and then looked to Minho for answers.

“Hope you made enough sandwiches for Thomas too,” Minho said.

“Back to being a runner?” Frypan asked cautiously.

Thomas nodded. “Yep.”

Frypan stared at him for a moment before turning and grabbing four sandwiches for the two.

Minho examined the sandwiches he’d been given and made a face. “Boy will I be glad when the wheat is ready for harvest and we can have actual bread again.”

“You and me both,” Frypan said, returning to cutting up fruit one of the runners had brought back from a far section of the woods for a fruit salad. “I’m tired of hearing you complain everyday about your shucking sandwiches. Be happy you even have food to eat!”

Thomas chuckled as he put the sandwiches in his bag along with the pear. Minho glared at the cook before grabbing a fist full of Thomas’ shirt and pulling him out of the kitchen. 

Once they were at the edge of the woods, Minho stopped, rested his hands on his hips and looked up at the trees. “Ready?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

Minho grinned at Thomas before taking off into the woods. “Come on Thomas, keep up!” he yelled back.

Thomas smiled and shook his head as he started after Minho. Some things never changed.

As the trees flew past him and he dodged rocks along the trail, leapt over rotting fallen trees and ducked under low-hanging branches, Thomas realized how much he’d missed running. The fresh air, the sound of his feet hitting the ground in rapid succession, it made him feel at peace, like everything horrible that had happened to him was miles behind him and would never catch up. Happiness flooded his chest as he thought of the way that Newt would wrap his arms around him to welcome him home, the laughter they would all share around the campfire as they ate dinner and the way Newt liked to back him against the bed until he fell on top of it before climbing on top of him.

As he and Minho crossed a shallow part of the river, their feet splashing up water, Thomas realized… he felt alive again.


End file.
